Can’t get enough of that Donald Trump stuff

Wayne Root submits an increasingly pertinent question.

How Did Trump Become Superman, Batman, Elvis & the Beatles Rolled into One?
Trump isn’t just winning big in America…he’s spreading!

A Trump clone (Javier Milei) was just elected as President of Argentina. A Trump clone (Geert Wilders) was just elected as the leader of Netherlands. A Trump clone (Conor McGregor) is the new nationalist hero of Ireland, defending the Irish people from foreign invasion- and he may also become the next Prime Minister.

A Trump clone was even elected Mayor of Charleston, South Carolina this week- the first Republican elected since 1877.

You’ve heard the song, “I’m turning Japanese, I really think so.” Well, the new hit single is “The whole world is turning Trump, I really think so.” Everywhere in America and all over the world, Trump is spreading.

Did you see President Trump entering the arena for UFC two weeks ago? It was one of the most amazing, exhilarating sports entrances ever. 20,000 fans went insane screaming for Trump. It was like the Beatles arriving in America in 1964.

Did you see President Trump entering the football stadium last Saturday for the South Carolina-Clemson college football game? When Trump walked into the stadium the crowd was even more hysterical than the UFC crowd. It was like they were witnessing Elvis return from the dead. 80,000 fans went wild for Trump- screaming his name and chanting “USA, USA, USA.” It was literally one of the most exciting scenes in sports history.

Keep in mind this wasn’t a political convention. These weren’t Republicans. This was a mainstream football game. And the audience was mostly college students. No politician in U.S. history has ever elicited a reaction like this.

Trump is no longer a man. He is a superhero to a vast swath of America.

Polls confirm that something special is happening. Trump is beating Biden in virtually every poll at Real Clear Politics. Trump is winning in every battleground state. Trump is winning among youth. Trump is leading among minority men. And if Trump is winning the popular vote, that means he’s winning an electoral landslide.

This is happening while Trump is under four federal and state indictments, facing 91 felony counts, and over 700 years in prison.

Trump is doing the best in polls in history. In all the years since he came down the escalator in 2015, Trump has rarely led in polls, anywhere.

Trump voters are always under-counted in polls. That’s why Trump was always trailing Hillary in 2016. Yet Trump won. Trump was always trailing Biden throughout 2019 and 2020- nationally and in most battleground states. Yet Trump added 12 million new votes. He got the most votes of any sitting president in history.

We all know Trump won the 2020 election. Democrats had to rig and cheat with fake mail-in ballots in six key battleground states to overcome huge Trump leads on Election Night that would have given Trump an electoral landslide.

But now for the first time in history, Trump is winning in every poll.

How dramatically have things changed? Trump was just endorsed by a co-Founder of BLM.

How did Trump go from supposedly “unpopular” “washed up” and “the GOP’s past” to superhero, Superman, Batman, Elvis and the Beatles rolled into one, while under nonstop criminal indictment? The answers are simple…

Follows, a rundown of those answers, which are indeed simple enough. But in the end, they all boil down to just one:

Thank you, Democrats. You built this Trump superhero.

Heh. Credit the DC Swamp malefactors and their Woke Corporate Amerika Inc criminal co-conspirators with an assist, but…pretty much, yeppers. You just know that’s gotta smart a bit, and it couldn’t happen to a nicer bunch of assholes if you ask me.

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RAYCISS!

Go, little black (and red) face boy, go!


I’m with the esteemed Mr Woods myself, all the way, and with Mr Majesty as well. Another perfect response:


In-fargin’-DEED. Sadly, the shitlibs can no more recognize irony than their own hypocrisy, and are as bereft of a sense of shame as they are of a sense of humor, of humility, or of decency. Remarkable, innit, how these self-proclaimed enlightened, evolved Superior Beings are in truth deficient in so very many ways.

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Is the tide turning at long, long last?

Could be, could be. Via Zero Hedge:



Heh. Indeed. The anguish of shitlibs the world over brought on by these revoltin’ developments was best expressed by Whittier: Of all sad words of tongue and pen/The saddest are these, “It might have been.” From where I sit, Geert Wilders’ win in the Netherlands may not turn out to be quite the “landslide” being proclaimed by exultant right-wingers—the numbers are from those notorious exit polls, and Wilder has called for a coalition-government with the liberal-Left VVD—but it’s still a damned good start anyway; verily, the Progtard wailing comes as sweet music to mine ears. As Tyler Durden commends to our attention, it’s not as if the media propagandists will ever back down:

Just remember folks, it’s not the will of the people reflected at the ballot box, it’s the “far right” winning a “shock victory.”

ShockVictory

An old truism holds that in this world, the only constant is change. Then again, some things never do. We shall see.

Update! That off-the-chain hairdo ain’t the only reason you just gotta love the guy.

MileiNeedNotRight

Bang, zoom, to the moon with ye, libtards! Thanks to our boozum bud Concerned American for sending this one along.

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Holy Hell – Girls in Paris

Muslims everywhere are quaking.
Girls. French girls. I do love them.

Via: Whatfinger News

UPDATE: As Skeptic point out in the comments, a “context” comment has been added – “The video is a choreographed stunt featuring professional trainees at the Campus Univers Cascades, a stunt training centre in France.”

Appears to be accurate.

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A little good news

Contra the self-obsessed blubbing of shitlib idiot and sportsball also-ran Megan Rapinoe, God is real, and He’s laughing His almighty ass off.

Guest Column: God Here. Megan Rapinoe’s Career-Ending Injury Is Proof That I’m Real.
I thought it would be hilarious, and it was.

KINGDOM OF HEAVEN—Hey, folks. God here. I’m writing in response to recent comments from Megan Rapinoe, a human female best known for playing the so-called sport of soccer, or “Satan’s Folly” as we call it up here.

Rapinoe invoked my name on Saturday after injuring her Achilles tendon in the opening minutes of the National Women’s Soccer League Championship. It was the final game of her professional career.

“I’m not a religious person or anything and if there was a God, like, this is proof that there isn’t,” Rapinoe told the demonic cretins you call journalists during the post-game press conference. “This is f—ed up. It’s just f—ed up. Six minutes in and I eat my Achilles.”

LOL!

I knew this would happen, obviously, but that doesn’t make it any less hilarious. The last game of Rapinoe’s career—the league championship, no less—and she injures herself immediately then has to watch her team lose from the sidelines. I’m still laughing about it.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. Yes, I technically “created” Rapinoe and “love” her the same as all my “children,” even the ones who deny my existence. Even the ones who worship Satan and play soccer, to the extent there is a difference.

Nevertheless, I think we can all agree Megan Rapinoe is an obnoxious shrew who had it coming. Right? I’m willing to forgive almost anything, but one thing I simply can’t abide is disrespect for my country, the United States of America. Just ask Gabe Kapler or Colin Kaepernick.

Did I take it too far? Maybe. When the U.S. women’s soccer team protested the National Anthem during the World Cup earlier this year, I made sure they were humiliated by Sweden, an inferior country. I engineered it so Rapinoe, playing in her final World Cup, would contribute to the loss by whiffing a penalty kick, one of the easiest shots ever invented in the history of sports.

“That’s like a sick joke,” Rapinoe said after the crushing defeat. It sure was. “Sick” as in awesome.

Heh. Seconded from here below, dearest Lord. Many humble thanks for checking in and keeping Your obedient, devoted children hip to the Heavenly haps like this.

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Happy Armistice/Remembrance/Veterans Day!

The eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, by tradition, the time and date in 1918 the Armistice bringing hostilities to a close was scheduled to go into effect.

Armistice Day, later known as Remembrance Day in the Commonwealth and Veterans Day in the United States, is commemorated every year on 11 November to mark the armistice signed between the Allies of World War I and Germany at Compiègne, France, at 5:45 am for the cessation of hostilities on the Western Front of World War I, which took effect at 11:00 am—the “eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month” of 1918 although, according to Thomas R. Gowenlock, an intelligence officer with the U.S. First Division, shelling from both sides continued for the rest of the day, ending only at nightfall. The armistice initially expired after a period of 36 days and had to be extended several times. A formal peace agreement was reached only when the Treaty of Versailles was signed the following year.

The date is a national holiday in France, and was declared a national holiday in many Allied nations. However, many Western countries and associated nations have since changed the name of the holiday from Armistice Day, with member states of the Commonwealth of Nations adopting Remembrance Day, and the United States government opting for Veterans Day. In some countries Armistice Day coincides with other public holidays.

As might easily have been foreseen, at least according to the usual 20/20 hindsight, the War To End All Wars did no such thing; a mere twenty years later, the folly of indulging such wishful thinking would be established for all time.

Closely juxtaposed with Veterans Day every November 11th, there’s another martial anniversary well worth remembering for American patriots: the founding—in a bar, natch—of the philanthropical and charitable organization revered far and wide as Uncle Sam’s Misguided Children.

Here are some badass stories to help ring in the Marine Corps’ birthday
When Samuel Nicholas was tasked with raising two battalions of Marines in Philadelphia, he knew just where to go: a bar.

Nicholas headed to Tun Tavern that fateful Nov. 10 in 1775, and — so the traditional story goes — the Continental Marines were born.

Two hundred forty-eight years later, Tun Tavern is gone, but the Marine Corps is still around.

Happy birthday, Marines. Before you head out to your local birthday ball, celebrate with this roundup of some of the great things Marines have done since turning 247.

Marines step up in malls, embassies and Chick-fil-As
In December 2022, Marine recruiter Staff Sgt. Josue Fragoso and applicant Scott Elliott were going through paperwork in a California mall when they heard glass shattering. They proceeded to nab two suspects who apparently were in the middle of a smash-and-grab heist of the mall’s jewelry store.

In April, three Marines who had recently graduated from Marine embassy security training at Quantico, Virginia, broke up a fight during a lunchtime excursion to a nearby Chick-fil-A. One of the Marines, Lance Cpl. Nicholas Dural, managed to break an alleged assailant’s knife in half.

Then Dural went to get a haircut — and didn’t tell his barber what had just happened.

“I try to be as humble as possible,” he told Marine Corps Times.

Obstacle course is no obstacle for 4-foot-7-inch Marine
The 4-foot-7-inch Pfc. Nathaniel Laprade made it through boot camp at Parris Island, South Carolina, in September, becoming possibly the shortest U.S. service member ever.

Many of the obstacles in the obstacle course were taller than Laprade, but he made it over without much trouble. He just had to jump a little higher, he said.

Laprade said of his peers in boot camp, “I think they kind of looked up to me in a way. I had one recruit, now a Marine, who told me that I was his motivation.”

During his enlistment process, Laprade heard from recruiters about Richard Flaherty, a 4-foot-9-inch Green Beret who became known as the “Giant Killer” for his service in Vietnam.

“The main part that inspired me was that he was Army and 4 foot 9 inches,” Laprade said. “If I go Marines when I’m 4 foot 7 inches, I will beat him in two ways.”

More still at the link, just a few among so many wonderful stories of Gyrene aplomb, pluck, and derring-do that form an important part of Marine Corps history. And lest we forget, there’s also the legendary Marine’s Marine Chesty Puller.

Lewis Burwell “Chesty” Puller (June 26, 1898 – October 11, 1971) was a United States Marine Corps officer. Beginning his career fighting guerillas in Haiti and Nicaragua as part of the Banana Wars, he later served with distinction in World War II and the Korean War as a senior officer. By the time of his retirement in 1955, he had reached the rank of lieutenant general.

Puller is the most decorated Marine in American history. He was awarded five Navy Crosses and one Distinguished Service Cross. With six crosses, Puller is second behind Eddie Rickenbacker for citations of the nation’s second-highest military award for valor. Puller retired from the Marine Corps in 1955, after 37 years of service. He lived in Virginia and died in 1971 at age 73.

Again, just the lead-in to a much larger, longer story.

7 Legends About ‘Chesty’ Puller, the Most Decorated Marine in US History
Lewis “Chesty” Puller (1898-1971), was a 37-year veteran of the USMC, ascended to the rank of lieutenant general and is the most decorated Marine in the history of the Corps. He served in World War II, Haiti, Nicaragua and the Korean War. The concrete facts surrounding his military service are astounding, but his grassroots legacy is carved out by stories echoed through generations of Marines that sound crazy enough to be true only for Puller.

His Nickname “Chesty” Came from the Legend that He Had a False “Steel Chest.”
There are many legends surrounding how Lewis “Chesty” Puller got his nickname. One says that it came from his boisterous, commanding voice that was miraculously heard over the sounds of battle. There are even some that say that it is literal — and that his chest was hacked away in the banana wars and replaced with an iron steel slab.

“All Right, They’re on Our Left. They’re on Our Right. They’re in Front of Us. They’re Behind Us. They Can’t Get Away This Time.”
This is one of the most iconic quotes from Puller. His men were completely surrounded, and what initially seemed like doom would soon be revealed to them as the beginnings of victory.

He Always Led by Example.
Puller famously put the needs of his men in front of his own. In training, he carried his own pack and bedding roll while marching at the head of his battalion. He afforded himself no luxuries his men did not have — usually meaning a diet consisting only of “K” rations. When in New Britain, Papua New Guinea, legend has it that he slept on the bare floor of an abandoned hut and refused to let the native people make him a mattress of banana leaves. And he always refused treatment when wounded until his men had been attended to.

The traditional American nation, battered, bruised, and bloodied as it now is, will always have need of such men, as many of them as it can possibly get. Amerika v2.0, on the other hand, is not only incapable of producing them, but actively scorns and shuns them, favoring…well, other, far lesser breeds, shall we say.

Happy birthday, Marines, and many happy returns. May God bless and keep you all.

USMCNormal

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Practical advice

Now THIS is news you can really use.

9 Ways To Scare Off Californians Looking To Move Into Your Neighborhood
Wait a minute, is that young couple looking for a home in your neighborhood from California? You better get them out of here pronto before they turn your beautiful state into a socialist cesspool! If you don’t, you’ll both have to look for a new state to move to in about ten years after they bring their California politics with them.

These are the absolute best ways to scare off a Californian:

  1. Smile and wave at them: Californians hate this! They might even be killed in the process.
  2. Offer them sweet tea: They will instantly become diabetic just by looking at a full pitcher of Southern-style Sweet Tea. As an added bonus, the polite gesture will also scare them (see above).
  3. Show off a cool gun you’re packing: They will freak out even though this is only one of the guns you are packing. The others aren’t as cool, sadly.
  4. Ask them where they are going to church immediately after meeting them for the first time: It’s normal to do that where you’re from, but this question is basically kryptonite to a Californian.
  5. Invite them to your church this Sunday: (Same as above)
  6. Show them your house and the several acres you live on: Their brains literally can not comprehend the idea that a family of four isn’t crammed into a tiny studio apartment. It will seem icky and wrong to them for it to be any other way.
  7. Point out how many houses in town have American flags: Once they notice this little detail, they will react like vampires to the sun coming up at dawn.
  8. Start talking about what they can expect when winter rolls around: They are only used to one season that lasts all year round and you may need to explain the concept of winter several times before the horror for them really sets in.
  9. Show off your Trump 2020 and 2024 bumper stickers: This is sure to send them back to California in absolute terror.

Helpful, effective, to the point, indisputably true and reliable—is it any wonder the shitlib “mainstream” media hates the Bee so much?

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BLINDSIDED!

Man bites dog.

BLM Leader Stumps for Trump Because He Is the ‘Best Candidate We Have’

*Shakes head dazedly, rubs forehead in puzzlement, gulps audibly several times* Wait….whut…whut…WHAT THE ACTUAL FUUU…

The co-founder and former Senior Director of the Rhode Island chapter of BLM, Mark Fisher, is now on tour stumping for Donald Trump and advocating for the rights of the Jan. 6 protestors.

In an interview with political analyst Kim Iverson earlier this week, Fisher called the policies of Democrats anti-capitalist and disastrous for blacks. 

“We want to create wealth. We want to gain wealth, leave something for our children, you know.” Fisher also spoke out against abortion and liberal policies that promote it, saying that the act “goes against the laws of nature” and the “laws of procreation.”

Then, taking aim at the Democrats and whether or not they benefit the black community, he added, “I’m not here to judge anybody, or to hate on anybody. I’m just telling you what’s beneficial and what’s not for my community, and the Democratic Party is not.”

Fisher believes that black Americans have “been mental slaves” who have historically pledged universal loyalty to the Democratic Party. However, that party has not delivered results or tangible improvements in return.

He lamented that “we’ve been used and abused for so long by that party. They don’t value our vote. Their policies are basically racist policies, and I believe it’s a racist party that strikes at the heart of the black family and the nuclear family in general.”

Fisher’s comments come as the Biden campaign and Democrats in general face a crisis with black voters who are leaving the radical left in droves as illegals continue to flood urban areas. Inflation is unchecked and many in the black community feel abandoned and ignored by their representatives.

Turning his attention to Trump, Fisher had this to say:

“Well, you know, I like Trump, and I think right now who we have sitting in the Oval Office is just a deep disappointment, you know? I deeply have disdain for him, and I really dislike the Vice President as well.”

He then added, “And I believe Donald Trump, he’s the opposite. He’s gonna tell you how it is. He’s gonna give it to you straight. He’s not gonna be a hypocrite and stab you in the back like the Democratic Party loves to do.”

Fisher has also been outspoken in his defense of those being held for the events that took place on January 6, 2021. In an interview with the Epoch Times, he said:

“They’re lambs led to slaughter to be sacrificed as an example for all who might want to dissent in the future. This is what the government does to those who express independent thought and want to stand up for what they believe.”

Okay, I am forced to admit at this point that this is yet another thing I did not no way no how see coming. I seem to be saying that a hell of a lot lately, but then I guess that’s just the kind of world we live in nowadays. At any rate, welcome to the party, Mr Fisher. Whatever else it might be, it’s certainly one hell of a ride, and we’re most glad to have ya along.

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Proud papa gloats a bit

Indulge me for a mo’, folks. I know this ain’t exactly the usual profane and objectionable fare you’ve come to expect here, and there’s really not much reason you should care, if any. But dang it, I’m busting here and just can’t help myself. Ladies and germs, kindly allow me to present to you the Bessemer City (NC) High School marching band!

Never so much as heard of Enka, NC before, but it appears to be located just outside the scenic, neohippie doofus-infested burg of Asheville. To avoid nettling those of you who might not be interested in reading further, I’ll tuck the rest of the story below the fold.

Continue reading “Proud papa gloats a bit”

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The People that Don’t Like Me are the Rich People”

1995 Interview with Roger Ailes.

Trump 2020 is basically the same as Trump 1995, and Trump is liked and admired by the average Joe, which is why he won in 2016 and won by a landslide in 2020. He will win again in 2024, the question being – will we allow a 2nd coup to occur?

You cannot listen to this interview, now nearly 30 years old, without recognizing the genuine American character this man has. Not if your honest anyway.

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The exception that proves the rule?

Okay, raise your hand if you saw THIS coming. I must say, I didn’t.

Muslim Group Publicly Condemns Anti-Semitic Violence and Hate, Hamas, Terrorist Attack on Israel
As violence and hatred toward Jews continues to worsen amid the Middle East war sparked by Hamas’ terrorist attack on an Israeli music festival, one Muslim group is denouncing antisemitism in all its forms and sending a message to their Jewish “brethren.”

“We Muslims have one word for Jews. Shalom,” reads the headline of the message pinned to the top of the social media page of Muslims Against Antisemitism (@MAA_UK on X/Twitter). Posted on Saturday, the message that follows is a reprint of a statement tweeted by MAA when it was formed back in 2018.

When Hamas attacked Israel last month on October 7, the Muslim group immediately began condemning both the attack and those who take joy in it (emphasis added):

“Let’s be very clear. Celebrating the brutal murder of Jews (or Palestinians), is NO cause for celebration. Today, many people have lost their precious lives. Celebrating in cars at this time is horrible & shows utter contempt and antisemitism towards all Jews.”

“Please watch out for each other at this time. Antisemitism must not be tolerated in communities because of what is taking place in the Middle East. Jews in the U.K. cannot and must not be targeted by those who carry the poison of antisemitism within them.”

“There is NO justification for murder,” MAA declared on October 8, the day after the attack, noting that “Killing Israelis going about their lives has nothing to do with a ‘free Palestine’ but everything to do with brutal murderous barbarism by fundamentalists.”

The message closes with a quote, in Hebrew, from the Book of Psalms:

“In peace, we say these words: Hiney ma tov u’ma-nayim. Shevet ach’im gam ya-chad.”

“Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity” is the English translation of the Bible quote.

WOW. According to strict interpretation of the Koran, Surah, and Hadiths, this is of course balls-out apostasy, but all the more courageous of them for being so. Hats off to the MAA for their reasonable, humane, and downright noble stance, that’s all I have to say about it. Coming at such a time, it is most welcome.

(Via Sefton)

Steve McQueen followup

So since posting “American badass” yesterday, I have fallen DEEEEP down the rabbit hole of all things 70s dirt-bike. After another long, stimulating conversation with my friend Stan this evening on the subject, I’ve been Wiki-searching all the great old names: DeCoster, Jim Pomeroy, Malcom Smith, John Penton, Heikki Mikkola, et al. This serious sidetrackery led me to a couple of real finds.

AttackLifeMcQueen

Preach it, Steve! Next up: truer words were never, EVER spoken.

BikerForever

Heh. Anybody out there who grew up like me, Stan, and his brother Chipps did know exactly what it feels like. In our conversation earlier tonight, Stan brought up Chipps’s old Honda Mini Trail Z50—the bike Chipps taught me to ride on back when I was, oh, 11 or 12, which looked a little something like this:

72MiniTrail

As I recollect, the one Chipps had sported a slightly different paint/decal scheme on the tank, although it was certainly red as all getout. See the black plastic knobs down at the bottom of the bars, just above where the risers meet the top triple-clamp? Turning those counter-clockwise (lefty loosey!) would loosen each handlebar to fold down alongside the fork leg independently, making it easy-peasy to toss the little Z50 into the trunk of Dad’s car when a nice weekend camping trip up to the mountains was in order.

Can’t see very well in the pic, but the bars are supposed to have a bit of space between them. On Chipps’s Z50, however, they were bent so badly from innumerable falls, collisions, and other what-have-you that they actually touched in the middle, about halfway along the rise to the turnout where the grips, front brake lever, throttle, and kill switch (that red button thingie by the left grip) all live. It was funny to look at, kinda like a bunny with its ears all a-flop rather than sticking up straight.

Three-speed (or was it four?) auto-clutch tranny; chrome steel fenders front and rear; honkin’ big chrome heat shield over the upswept exhaust, which of course would be summarily removed and thrown into a remote corner of the garage for the duration, the oversize muffler drilled/hacksawed/gutted to replace the offensively meek, barely-audible “putt-putt-putt” sound with a more manly, throatier growl; cable-actuated drum brakes front and rear; cute little semi-knobby balloon-tires and mag wheels; in short, all the traditional styling, hardware, and running gear standard on the kid-size Hondas from that era.

That tiny little booger provided my first-ever experience with the indestructible nature of pretty much all Honda engines; like my beloved Ford 289s, they simply can’t be kilt, no matter how severely you abuse ‘em. Which of course we did. It’s long been my theory that you could’ve blown a few .50 caliber holes in that 49cc motor with a Ma Deuce and it still woulda cranked on the first kick and purred like a cat eating guts anyhow.

The seat had a latch on the side, allowing access to a small storage compartment underneath, among other things. On Chipps’s bike, the spring holding the latch closed was broken. This meant that whenever you jumped the thing, momentum would leave the seat flapping in the air—not such a big problem when you’re standing on the pegs and airborne, but a real nut-buster when you landed and went to sit back down again with the seat in the “open” position and stuffed into your crotch.

A more dire hazard than that top frame rail on our old Schwinn boys’ banana-bikes was, believe you me. Whoever wasn’t actually riding at the time and was off fooling around in the woods or catching tadpoles in the nearby crick always knew when the other guy had crested a hill and caught some air by the sudden profane shouts of pain at having been caught again by that $*&^$##@@#!!! loose seat.

Ahh, those were the days, my friend, we thought they’d never end.

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American badass

That would be one Steve McQueen, as shown in this commercial for Honda’s all-time badass motocrosser, the almighty Elsinore CR250M.

Repops of that great orange and black Elsinore jersey McQueen sports in the vid can be had all day long for about 40-50 bucks, my lifelong friend and vintage-dirt-bike enthusiast Stan tells me. By contrast, Steve’s smoke-tinted helmet visor with the little rearview mirrors mounted on each side are rare as hens’ teeth, going for around 3-400 smacks when/if you’re fortunate enough to find one at all.

The video is a commercial McQueen made for Japanese TV, for which he got paid a cool million bucks. He actually ran the Elsinore Grand Prix (for which Honda’s first two-stroke MX bike was named) himself in 1970 under the hilarious nom de badass Harvey Mushman—no, really. Of that historic race, McQueen had this to say:

“When you’re runnin’ with the top ten, as I was, you’re really honkin’ on pretty good an’ what happpens is that with so many bikes choppin’ up the dirt the holes in the course get worse…deeper with each lap.

“I was comin’ out of a wash under a bridge with this road dip ahead and I just kinda took one of those big jumps where you’re sure you’re gonna make it but you don’t. And I didn’t. My bike nosed into the dip, which was, like, deep – and I went ass-over the bars into the crowd. Didn’t hurt anybody but me. My left foot was busted in six places.”

This wasn’t enough to stop him however, as he got back on the bike and finished the race, still finishing in the top ten!

What’d I tell ya? Badass!

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“Argue with them and get in their face”

Throw their own shit back at them, exactly as Bathhouse Barry once recommended be done to us.

A Wine O’Clock Wendy — I’m really trying to make this put-down go viral; I think it’s Streets Ahead of “AWFL” — and her Frankencuck husband were videoed ripping down posters of American hostages held by Hamas.

The woman putting up the posters was not having it.

Indeed she was NOT, bless her heart. After the “man” had committed assault and battery by placing “his” dainty hand over the justly outraged woman’s camera and shoving her—a Mark-1 Mod-0 insufferable shitlib smirk all over “his” womanly face—our Power Couple quickly scurried off with their tails tucked (y’know, like “his” squirrel-dick usually is) between their legs before the Bad Woman could punch their dim fucking lights out.

 

HELL yeah, that’s how you do it. The happy ending:

Brooklyn man suspended from job by his Jewish dad after ripping posters of Hamas hostages
A Brooklyn man seen tearing down posters of Israeli kids held by Hamas has been identified as a former magician — whose Jewish father suspended him from his gig at a user experience company, according to a report.

Noah Schaffer, 41, and his wife, Kelly, were seen being berated by a Jewish woman after they removed the posters this past weekend at Brooklyn Bridge Park, the group StopAntisemitism posted on X.

“This couple has been identified as spouses Kelly Ann and Noah Schaffer. Kelly has been previously arrested and works as a social worker for @UrbanDoveNY. Noah works as a strategist for @humanfactors,” the group wrote.

Again, that’s Noah and Kelly Ann Schaffer, likely of some precious, too-twee Brooklyn hipsterhood. Wherever these two vile creatures may reside, I think it would be just AWFUL if large, angry mobs started showing up on the doorstep of their domicile with torches, truncheons, and bullhorns at 3 AM every night for about, oh, a year. Anybody out there knows how to find their home address, feel free to let me know and I’ll happily update this post with it. Goose, meet gander.

Update! Done and done, courtesy of our friend Aesop, reporting in from his extended vacay:

Apparently, that address would be

Noah and Kelly Ann (McManus) Schaeffer
191 Willoughby St. Apt 12K.
Brooklyn NY 10026

Well whaddayaknow about that, in Brooklyn, just a hop, skip, and a jump from the borough’s Ft Greene nabe. Only reason I know even that much is I had two musician friends who lived thereabouts, but that was back in the mid-90s: bassist Bill and drummer Stanley. Used to drive out from Manhattan to fetch the boys a cpl-three nights a week, load their gear, and whisk the three of us off to whatever extra-money side gig we had scheduled in Brooklyn, central Lawn Guyland, or out in the Hamptons. As many times as I did that, I very much doubt I could find either of their houses today.

Billy has long since moved to Norway, where his lovely and vivacious wife Ingegerd hails from originally. Aussie Stan, as his friends called him, lived in a HUGE three-story Victorian-style house on a lovely, quiet, tree-lined block off Flatbush Ave which his wife had inherited some years before I met him. I won’t say it was a mansion, but if somebody else wanted to I might put a “yes” to it. I pure-tee loved Stan and Mrs Stan’s crib; for starters, it had a paved driveway leading downhill into a three-car (THREE!) garage under the house equipped with automatic bay-doors and remote-opener fob. Through the inside door from the garage waited a sumptuous, nicely-appointed rumpus room/man-cave, complete with:

  • A tournament-size pool table
  • A vintage Wurlitzer jukebox loaded with old blues, country, and rockabilly .45s
  • A fully-stocked bar from the late 1940s–dark, worn wood and the traditional brass foot-rail at bottom, out of a long-deceased neighborhood gin-mill owned by a friend of Stan’s who just gave him the bar gratis when it finally shut down for good; the guy even went so far as to help Stan move the heavy-ass thing to his house
  • A classic Bally KISS pinball table in near-new condition
  • Assorted plush, comfortable leather sofas and recliner-chairs deep and soft enough to sink down into without a trace
  • A German foosball table, likewise meticulously preserved, but with that easy, loose feel to the action that all properly broken-in German tables ought to have; a fast, hard front-man pull-, toe-, or slap-shot past the opposing goalie would always yield that sharp, satisfying BANG! that every skilled foosballer lives for, so loud it can easily be heard way over on the far side of a packed, noisy arcade—a sound those shitty French tables with their wimpy cork balls simply can’t produce—usually accompanied by the metallic, whispery TINK! of the hard plastic ball meeting the thin sheet-steel plate mounted at the back of the goal-hole to protect the wood behind it. The game rooms I loved best in my misspent youth would go dead silent for a few seconds in the wake of such a resounding score, after which respectful pause the shouts and applause would ring out from the other players: POINT! HELL yeah! BURN! Sucker just got his ass SLAMMED!!! High fives, backslaps, gales of raucous laughter all around; those were the rooms I went to again and again and again, and there’s a damned good reason for that

Let me tell ya, driving down to park in the underground garage, unass the vehicle, from there to emerge into a veritable palace like Stan’s basement hideaway was, the whole damned house was—in cramped, overcrowded New York City, mind, not exactly renowned for its generously-sized, airy, comfortable indoor spaces—made you feel like you were really somebody. And that is the God’s honest truth.

Fort Greene was a nice enough if not particularly fancy area back then, but by now who knows. Been nigh on twenty years since I was last in Brooklyn, so I couldn’t guess how extensively or even whether Ft Greene has been gentrified; I do know that at this point most of seedy, grubby old Brooklyn has been tidied up, refreshed, and/or rebuilt to at least some degree. But no matter. Whatever the neighborhood’s current condition, if you’re in the area I think the sudden wee-hours appearance of a flaming bag of fresh-squeezed dogshit at Chez Schaeffer’s front door as a Halloween gift would surely not go amiss, to hijack from its proper context a fine old Captain Mal line.

A flick of the Bic, a press of the doorbell, a fleet-footed dash back into the anonymity of night’s darkness, and voila! Mission accomplished, and well done to you. Maybe the pissed-off woman in the above Andy Ngo vid would enjoy dropping one off for ‘em. T’is a consummation devoutly to be wished, the absolute least the rotten, uncaring douchetools deserve for what they did. A standard issue non-apology “apology” accompanied by an insincere, blasé shrug just ain’t gonna cut it, I shouldn’t think.

4

In a nutshell

The tall but brilliant Diogenes Sarcastica sums the Mooselimb/Leftist alliance up.

The virulent anti-Israel protests across America and Europe throw a glaring light on the bizarre alliance, the odd combination of far left activist at universities and the anti-west, militant followers of muhammad that now threaten Jews in the street, and intimidates anyone brave enough to voice their dissent.

What makes the alliance so strange are the deep-seated differences between leftists and muslim fundamentalists over core beliefs. The left supports women’s rights and full equality. Militant muslims oppose them. The left supports gay rights and gay marriage. Militant muslims toss homos off buildings. The left supports abortion rights. Militant muslims oppose them. They need the children to hide behind. The left is indifferent to religious freedom, Militant muslims believe infidels should be executed. The left opposes the death penalty. Militant muslims endorse it and praise their governments for using it.

These beliefs are not marginal for either group. They are foundational, and they are profoundly opposed to each other.

But they deal with differences very simply – Hate.

That about covers it, yeah. And why not, really? A feral, perfervid hatred for all and any who dare to disagree with their rigid orthodoxy is the one thing they have in common. Our pal DS also has a truly excellent random-thoughts-type post up:

Late-night Musings From The Bathtub
I think the single most important thing a man can do to be an ally is give his lady friends permission to give persistent dudes at the bar his number so when they call he can angrily say that’s not funny because she died 15 years ago that very night.

Nervous of flying? Don’t be. As long as 2 million parts in a plane work perfectly while traveling at close to the speed of sound as sharp metal blades rotate at supersonic speeds in temperatures of -65 degrees 7 miles above the earth surface, you’ll be just fine. Enjoy the in flight movie…

Someone told me yesterday that they don’t eat tacos because they’re bad for you, and I’m starting to realize what my parents meant when they said I should be careful who I surround myself with.

Anyone who says their wedding was the best day of their lives has clearly never had 2 snickers bars fall down at once from a vending machine.

Heh. That’s some goooood squishy right there.

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